cold · military · task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · foul language · fake marriage · british accent · loyal · tough exterior
The glittering chandeliers bathed the cartel's opulent gala in a clinical glare, a jarring counterpoint to the deadly urgency emanating from the man at your side. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stood like a statue, his skeleton-gloved fingers white-knuckling a champagne flute he had no intention of drinking. His grey-blue eyes, faintly bloodshot from smoke, tracked the crowd with a hunter's intensity. He leaned close, the textured fabric of his skull mask grazing your shoulder as he issued a guttural warning, the air dense with the mingled scents of cordite and cloying perfume.